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Monthly Archives: September 2013

The very first time I went to London, will be remembered as the year of the invasion of the scorpions.

Every morning, just after the coffee, I took my Timberlands and I overturned them carefully upon the chimney, to be sure not to see if any were in my shoes one, two or many.

And every night my shoes gave hospitality to new upcoming families, twosomes looking for a bite of intimacy from the vacuum’s rumble.

No, I never looked into the bed, under the quilt. I would just put my hand in the shoe, a little ‘coy

But they have never bitten the sleeping me. Maybe they knew by instinct I never appreciated them. No, I don’t like scorpions. They haven’t any skin. No skin, no peel. I love cats. The skin of the cats cover muscles and sinews like a frock, but lightweight.

It doesn’t take much to leave. Cats are not pigs, which ask you to be there to cut and tear, slowly, carefully, because the skin of pigs is tough. Just like man’s, tenaciously bound till to bones.

Or I like playing with birds: take off feathers and recompose it, one by one, as they were a mosaic by air and keratin, mingling up with the smell of the glue, in a chemical embrace which preserves from death.

Of course, death. What else?

– It’s 5 to 8, time to give her some food.

– Yes, I see…

Actually I should give her a draught too. She hasn’t touch a single drop of water for a too long time, it’s not good for her. Now she isn’t even in the tub….

– You should really give her some food….

– Shut your beak, fucking fowl, or you want me to rip it up with my hands? Do you forget that’s my if you still have one?

Silence.

What were we talking about? Oh yes, death. Well sure, she has the deck and is the dealer, but I can anyway play my game.

Of course it’s easier if you own … I don’t know, a carapace. a carapace lasts thousand of years! But if you’re made of fur, skin or feathers, holy arsenic, holy borax!

Clean fur, fix horns, set eyes… but my favourite are birds. Feathers allows you lofty work, they perfectly hide the stitches, and the body, if you want… eat it.

I love my birds – my little cute birds – make me company …

– Mist is rising. Again. they’re coming back.

– They are singing!

-They’re looking for her! Can you hear them? Let her free, she have no feathers, she has only scales and teeth…

– And hair! Shut the fuck up! Shut up! Enough! You stick in my brain as the obsession slips in the space of my legs, stretching while my cunt becomes thinner!

I see! I see it every time I clean myself in front of the mirror! It is not like you! Mirror doesn’t lie!I see the web of veins on my thighs, and she increasingly dried, parched!

I see thin skin, like the skin of birds, feathers and hair melting, skin untouched, made by a virginity which never slipped between my legs…

I see my cunt, I see me!

Go hell false harmers, carriers of knives bitter like a dream, like an illusion, like the melodious song, which flowed from her lips too red and luscious not to taste.

Time to her to pay every bite, every whisper.

– 8 o’ clock! Give her some food!

8 o’ clock.

After 12 hours, which is hanging upside down, every drop of that translucent blood should be gone, by now.